This article examines the seminal contributions of Britain's marriage counseling and therapy services toward cultivating a new emotional purpose for marriage in the decades following World War II. It presents two related narrative threads. First, it argues that psychologically oriented relationship services attracted government support because they supported the postwar ideal of a classless democratic society. Pioneering practitioners promoted a universalized view of citizens’ emotional relationships—rather than their socio-economic circumstances—as the determining fact of their lives. Second, it argues that these services provided a compelling language and set of concepts for articulating transforming understandings and expectations of marriage in the decades after 1945. To this end, the article reveals how the language and concepts of marriage therapists were mobilized by divorce reformers in the 1960s, and helped replace the offense model for divorce petitions with a less punitive psychological model of relationship “breakdown” in 1969. Britain's postwar marriage welfare services endowed stable harmonious families with crucial social and political importance as the bedrock for postwar social reconstruction and the most fitting environment for children and adults alike to develop into fully mature and self-realized democratic citizens.

The Soviet invasion of Hungary in late October 1956 resulted in the exodus of approximately two hundred thousand Hungarians, of whom approximately twenty-one thousand came to Britain within a matter of weeks. This article historicizes the process of reception and resettlement of Hungarian refugees in Britain. Through exploring the rhetoric used and attitudes displayed during the reception and resettlement process, it considers if and how legally recognized rights established for refugees under the 1951 UN Convention mediated their arrival and treatment. It finds a failure of a new discourse of rights to permeate the language surrounding their reception. Instead, well-worn tropes of the generosity of the British and their traditions of tolerance and hospitality were deployed consistently at national and local levels. This had the effect of implying that entry to Britain was a privilege and one not to be abused, and it marginalized refugees who failed to conform to particular expectations. The article argues that tying attitudes toward Hungarian refugees—variously positioned as “grateful” or “ungrateful”—can be usefully understood within the context of broader conceptions of the “deserving” and “undeserving” poor and their relationship with the (welfare) state. Consequently, along with exploring the experiences of reception and resettlement of Hungarians in 1956/7 the article contributes to understandings of behavior, rights, and welfare in postwar Britain.

This article offers a history of British alternative comedy as a case study of political challenge and opposition in the 1980s and considers the role of humor in political campaigning more broadly. It explores left-wing thinking on culture as a potential political weapon, and questions how this informed the development and impact of alternative comedy as a genre. The article observes that pioneering alternative comedians went some way to change British comedy values and inform political discussions. However, it also argues that the complex operation of jokes and the tendency of comedians to become “incorporated” within the political and cultural mainstream ensured that the impacts of radical alternative material were limited and ambiguous. It contends that the practice of alternative comedy was undermined by business and political values that were often influenced by Thatcherism, and that alternative comedians mostly failed to capture the imaginations of working-class Britons. These communities retained instead an affection for more traditional, differently rebellious, comedic voices. Ultimately, this article frames alternative comedy within a longer history of radical humor, drawing out broader lessons concerning the revolutionary potential of jokes and the relationship between comedians, their audiences, and politics.

New technologies significantly increased the reach of advertising from the late nineteenth century. Some aspects of this phenomenon, such as advances in printing methods, are well known. Others, in particular its controversial leap into the sky, have received far less attention. Though no longer seen as the home of divine portents, the sky did not become “empty space” in the modern era: it was still freighted with significance. This meant that the various attempts made by entrepreneurs from the 1880s to bring advertising to the skies were often met with hostility, even panic. In exploring these responses, this article resists depicting opponents of aerial advertising as oversensitive aesthetes or technophobes. Rather, it explores the ways in which urbanization and commercial development imbued the sky with new meanings. The sky was imagined as man's most valuable connection to nature in an urban society, a precious but endangered part of the nation's heritage, and an essential counterweight to consumer society. Aerial advertising therefore represented an unjustifiable commercialization of a priceless public space. The rejection of this form of advertising did not involve denying modernity, but achieving an accommodation with it.

Between 1931 and 1947, the American industrialist Henry Ford financed a British agricultural experiment at the Fordson Estate in the Essex countryside. This article analyses the Fordson experiment as it developed from a limited attempt to test the merits of American farming methods into a wider model for remaking British industry and society. Focusing closely on Sir Percival Perry, a Conservative Party activist and Ford's partner in the venture, it explores the extent to which the experiment sought to harmonize modern technology with traditional patterns of life. In doing so, the article places the history of the Fordson Estate within the paradigm of interwar conservative modernity. By tracing Perry's participation within a network of industrial paternalist organizations and delineating his connection to the interwar conservative movement, the article demonstrates that conservative modernity stood largely outside formal party politics but was central to the praxis of interwar conservatism. It highlights an experimental, radical, and utopian form of conservative politics that aimed to foster conservative rural citizens.

The 1982 Falklands War was shrouded in symbolism, bringing to the fore divergent conceptions of Britishness, kinship, and belonging. This article casts light on the persistent purchase of the idea of Greater Britain long after the end of empire, addressing a case that would normally be deemed outside its spatial and temporal boundaries. By highlighting the inherent contradictions of this transnational bond, the South Atlantic conflict had a profound effect on an underexposed British community with a lingering attachment to a “British world”: the Anglo-Argentines. As they found themselves wedged between two irreconcilable identities, divisions threatened to derail this already enfeebled grouping. Yet leaders of the community, presuming a common Britishness with the Falkland Islanders and Britons in the United Kingdom, sought to intervene in the conflict by reaching out to both. That their efforts were met with indifference, and sometimes scorn, only underlines how contingent and frail the idea of Greater Britain was by 1982. Yet this article also reveals how wide ranging the consequences of the crisis of Greater Britain were, and how its global reach was acutely put to the test by pitting different “British worlds” against each other.